Poems from my Other Mind - 2. Why people set themselves on fire

My lungs are
a pressure cooker;
you put the seal
on my throat
when you said
my mood
poisoned
your food,
disposal loud,
jarring, as it
ate your dinner
for you.

The seal nearly broke
when you recounted
this meal
to my brother
as a joke,
a comedian
so fine
at tearing
laughter
from our
throats.

Instead, I joined you
in this jovial dance
around my dignity,
let you leave out
conveniently
why poison seeped
into the food
you wouldn’t eat,
what you did to me
while I stood
at the stove—
we both
recoil from
that part
of the joke.

The cooker screams
a bolt of white-hot steam.
But it’s not like me
to seek a burn of the
second degree
I’d rather cower
‘till it explodes,
an innovation
I've perfected,
my honorary PhD
in open heart surgery.

Go ahead,
dip your hands in deep.
Don’t bother with the gloves,
just squeeze,
I'll cover my mouth
to save your ears
from the scream,
sacrifice my
self esteem
straight up
to the wire.

Now I know
why people set
themselves
on fire.